by Eli Easton
That part of Christian wanted to act boldly. It was cruelly unfair. His brothers were never troubled by lust. If they wanted a maid, they pulled her into their lap and began pawing her. If she had serious objections, she’d knock them upside the head with a mug or a platter, and they would find another female who was more amenable. But Christian’s desires were another matter. They were like hidden daggers turned inward, and he knew if he pressed forward, he might just bleed to death.
Especially with William. To make an advance on another knight could prove deadly. Christian might be rewarded with a broken arm or a formal challenge. If William was slightly less offended, Christian might merely be sent home in shame. The worst part about that was he would have let William down. He wouldn’t be able to fulfill his pledge to help William rescue his sister. William would be forced to cast him off and carry on alone—alone and with even less of a chance than he already had.
So Christian resigned himself to silence. He would say and do nothing until the business with William’s sister was done. If they both survived, he would make it clear to William, perhaps by moving in slowly for a kiss—I want to lie with you. And then, should William not feel the same, he might at least be obliged enough to Christian to send him home rather than force him to single combat or expose him publicly.
The possibility of rejection was terrifying. Christian had never dared make his interest blatantly known to a man before. But then, he’d never desired anyone this much or been as wracked with speculation and doubts. He would gladly take rejection over wondering and wishing, overpondering the meaning of William’s every glance.
It was a reasonable plan. But it was flawed at its core. One or both of them might not survive the confrontation with Somerfield. And even if they did, they would then be traveling with William’s sister. If there were a small chance that the handsome knight returned his interest, right now could be their only chance to indulge it.
But Christian had no choice other than to continue to prove himself to William—and wait.
Chapter 6
After two weeks of hard riding, they were nearly to Derby. The past two nights they’d ridden until nightfall, and Christian had no chance to hunt game. But on this night, William saw the exhaustion in the horses and decided to rein them in a little early.
“We’ll stop here for the night,” he said as they reached a small clearing. “A morning’s ride will get us to Derby on the morrow.”
“Aye, Livermore could use the rest,” Christian agreed.
They dismounted, and Christian tied Livermore to a tree and removed his saddle. He pulled his bow and arrow along with a cloth sling from the packhorse.
“I’ll hunt us a decent meal if you’ve naught more important for me to do.”
William looked Christian in the eyes and smiled, making Christian’s insides turn as hot and soft as tallow. “Can’t think of a thing more important than that. My stomach will thank you for it. I’ll start a fire.”
With a nod and a silent sigh, Christian disappeared into the woods.
William had the horses settled and fed and the fire going by the time Christian returned. The cloth sling around his middle was full. He untied it and dropped it by the fire.
“By your leave, my lord, shall I serve pheasant this evening?” Christian’s face shone with pride.
William opened the bundle. “What a fat beauty! I suppose you’ll want to cook it. I’m so hungry, I could eat it raw.”
Christian dug into a pocket and pulled out a handful of plump brown heads. “We shall cook it—with a sauce of wild mushrooms.”
William looked at the mushrooms warily. “You know your way around these things, do you?”
“I do. An archer knows all the poisons in the woods. They’re useful for tipping arrows. These are perfectly harmless.” He popped one in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “If I’m not dead by the time the bird is cooked, you will know I speak true. Now for dessert….” He took another cloth from inside his shirt and opened it. “Blackberries.”
They were plump and dark and plentiful, and William’s stomach made a loud growl of approval at the sight. Christian deserved praise, and William was more than happy to lavish it on him. “I’ve dined less well in castle. I begin to think you’re part forest creature, Christian.”
“Would that I were. I’d be happy to live out here forever.” Christian’s tone was lighthearted, yet something told William he wasn’t joking. Still, he shone with pleasure at the compliments, and William shelved the concern for later.
“I’ll clean the bird,” William said, his tone firm. He reached for the pheasant and took out his knife. He’d let Christian prove himself, but it wasn’t fair to take advantage of his willingness to do all the dirty work.
“I’ll wash the mushrooms. Do we have any wine left to make a sauce?”
William spoke solemnly. “Aye. Enough for the sauce and more besides. ’Tis our duty to empty the wine bladder tonight, so I can fill it in Derby on the morrow. ’Tis bad luck to mix old wine and new.”
“We must not shirk our duty,” Christian agreed, with a sparkle in his eyes.
William felt a tingling warmth. He ducked his head and focused his attention on the bird.
The meal was a feast. After they ate they remained at the fire, passing the wine back and forth. William felt a contentment he hadn’t had in years. Even his concern about Elaine faded to a low murmur. Such a pleasant evening was a rare happenstance, and he knew enough to value it. It made him feel unusually friendly and talkative.
“You said you were eager to leave your father’s castle. Why?” he asked Christian.
Christian tossed a chestnut into the fire to hear it pop. “My family is not fond of me.”
William frowned. “How can that be? You’ve earned your spurs. You’re said to excel at archery. The crowd at the tournament loved you, from the cries I heard. Especially the maidens.”
He said this last with a wink, but a sad, ironic smile traced Christian’s lips. “Things are different on the inside than they appear on the outside.”
“Then tell me how it fares on the inside.” William wasn’t sure he should press, but it was still early, and he felt in the mood for conversation. Besides, he truly wanted to know more about Christian.
“My brother Malcolm wants me dead,” Christian said with no emotion. “The others would just as soon have me gone. My father has always both loved and hated me.”
“But Sir Malcolm supported your request to come with me.”
Christian barked a laugh. “Well, my apologies, Sir William, but it did sound a rather hopeless cause. ’Tis easier for him if someone else sticks the knife in my ribs.”
William stilled his questions, but he wondered. A seventh son should be no threat to his elder brothers. Of course, Lord Brandon’s other sons were rough-hewn and lumpy like their father. They could not hold a candle to Christian’s natural looks and grace. Such things could inspire bitter jealousy, especially if a specific lady were involved. Was that why Sir Malcolm wanted him dead? Had Christian stolen his beloved’s heart?
As if sensing his questions, Christian spoke again. “’Tis a simple matter. All my brothers share the same mother, Lady Mary. She was my father’s first wife. She bore him eight children, six of them boys. Then she died of a fever.”
Christian took a slug of wine and continued. “My mother was Lady Enndolyn, my father’s second wife. The story goes that my father lusted after her for years. But she refused to have anything to do with him while he was married to another.” Christian paused. “In fact, it is said that Lady Mary’s fever might have been helped along with a dose of poison, so strong was my father’s lust for Enndolyn.”
William breathed in sharply. “’Tis an evil accusation to lay on your own sire.”
Christian shrugged. “I only repeat what is whispered among the servants. It was before my time, as you can well surmise. I know naught of it. But however it happened, by means fair or foul, my father was at last
free, and he married my mother. He had her for only one year before I was born. She died in childbirth. He has never forgiven me. And my brothers—they hated my mother for dispossessing their dam, and by that same token, me.”
William’s heart ached at the placid, frozen expression on Christian’s face. Christian had learned to school his emotions well.
“My mother also died when I was young,” William said. “’Tis why I was so close to Elaine. She was younger than me, but she raised us both in my mother’s stead. I am sorry, Christian.”
Christian shrugged. “They say I look a great deal like her.”
“She must have been a very great beauty.”
When Christian looked at him in surprise, William felt his face reddening. “What I mean to say is… you do not resemble your brothers or your father.”
“No. I am nothing like them. I was ever smaller, weaker. Not a real man.”
William felt ashamed—he’d been guilty of the same prejudice. But he meant it now when he said, “You are a real man, Christian.”
“I made myself strong. But it was never enough for them.”
“Then they are fools. You’re an excellent hunter. And a hard worker too.”
William said it forcefully, and Christian smiled into the fire, but it was a sad smile.
For long moments they sat listening to the crackle of the burning wood and the nearby hooting of an owl. Then Christian spoke again. “I was fortunate that when I was fourteen, my mother’s brother visited our castle—Sir Robert of Allendale. He saw how I was treated and took pity on me. He asked my father if I might squire for him. It got me out of the castle for a number of years. I owe him a great debt.”
“He taught you well,” William said. “Was it your uncle who dubbed you ‘the Crow’? Archers are more oft called after vipers or scorpions or falcons.”
“No, I got the name quite young. I used to sit on the fence of our training arena, watching my brothers fight. I liked to sit with my feet on the top log and balance on my haunches.”
Suddenly William could see the image clearly. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the vision of a small dark-haired boy sitting thus.
Christian smirked. “I thought it would build my leg muscles and improve my reflexes.”
“I’m sure it did,” William said seriously, choking back a laugh.
“In truth, the name was meant as an insult.” Christian shrugged. “But it suits me. A crow knows how to get away from its enemies, sitting up high in a tree, watching, invisible. It sees the moment to attack, swoops in, and strikes—snatching a sparkling treasure or a bit of prey, and ’tis gone again in the blink of an eye. It is clever and bold, but never foolhardy. That is my warrior’s road.”
William couldn’t help smiling to himself at the earnestness of Christian’s description. He had the pride of any young warrior, still in love with the dream of his own ferocity.
“And you, Sir William? You’re called the Lion. Your strength and bravery is much lauded. But how would you describe your warrior’s road?”
“Me?” William composed his face into a serious scowl. “I sunder things with my sword. Oft.”
Christian blinked at him for a moment and then started laughing. He covered his mouth as if embarrassed at how it made him look. William felt a wave of anger that Christian had been forced to learn such restraint. He wanted to pull down that hand, to say, Laugh! Laugh, Christian, for there is none here to chide you for it. But he didn’t. Instead William smiled back, and then he caught Christian’s laughter as if it were a spark, and they chuckled together easily for a good while.
When their laughter died down, William stretched out his legs toward the fire and accepted Christian’s offer of the last swig of wine.
“We have slain the mighty wine bladder,” he said, draining it.
“It died a noble and selfless death.”
William snorted. He thought about all Christian had said. He flushed with shame when he remembered how it had felt to stand in front of Lord Brandon and admit that his own father had refused to help Elaine. But he attempted a teasing tone.
“I’m glad you told me why you joined my hopeless cause—you wished to leave home. ’Tis good for a man to know where he stands.”
“William… that… that is not the only reason I came with you.”
Christian’s voice was quiet, but something in it made the hair on the back of William’s neck stand up. He looked at Christian then. Christian stared back at him—and their gazes held.
William was used to Christian avoiding eye contact of late. But not this time, not tonight. William gazed into those eyes, caught by a pull he couldn’t break. And what he saw in those firelit fields of golden brown was an undeniable invitation. Just as their laughter had done, heat jumped from Christian to William, spreading through him, pooling heavily in his groin, and causing his pulse to race like a bolting horse.
William swallowed and tore his gaze away. He could feel his face blazing as he struggled to control his body and his thoughts.
“’Tis late,” William said. His voice did not sound like his own. “We should rest.”
He got up and, without looking at Christian again, began his nightly preparations.
Chapter 7
Sir William lay sleepless that night, watching the dying embers of the fire. He was thinking about Edmund. Edmund, his older brother—handsome, quick-to-smile Edmund. He’d been beloved so intensely by William, Elaine, and their father. Edmund was lost in battle in Wales when he was only twenty-eight. That was a pain that would never fade.
William had worshiped Edmund as only a younger brother can. He’d told him everything. Now he could not stop replaying over and over a conversation they’d once had. William had been fourteen.
“May I seek your advice, Brother,” William had asked with utmost seriousness.
“My word, that sounds ominous,” Edmund teased. “Did you steal a piece of cook’s pie? And if so, where’s my share?”
“’Tis serious,” William protested. “Will you promise to guard my secret?”
It was something they said to each other, Edmund and he, as if secrets were gems that could be locked away in a box.
“Aye. Speak from your heart, Will.”
William could not bear to look into his brother’s eyes. His face heated. “Is it normal for a boy my age to… to have lust?”
Edmund laughed. “More normal than whiskers. More normal than lice.”
“I do not have lice!”
Edmund laughed again.
“Be serious! Is it normal even if you lust for… for….”
“Speak up!” Edmund urged. “Is it Dame Thomson?”
William was aghast. Dame Thomson was gray-haired and wizened. “No!”
“Aye, she does sag a bit. Who, then? Be not afraid.”
“Other boys.” William stuck his chin out fiercely and met his brother’s gaze.
Edmund studied him for a moment and then laughed. “Aye. ’Tis normal enough. You’re a Corbet male, and you’ve fourteen summers. Not even the suckling pigs are safe.”
“But….” William was astonished by the easy acceptance.
Edmund leaned in and winked. “Any inch of skin, any curve of arse will stir the blood at your age. ’Tis a natural drive, Brother. Virility! You’ll thank God for it once you’ve a wife to swive. Our grandfather was still bedding wenches two at a time in his seventies!”
His smiling face grew serious. “But be careful where you stick it, Will. Messing with a boy or two might be tolerated at your age, but not much older. Find a woman grown, a widow perhaps. They love to tutor a boy still wet behind the ears. Only, make sure she’s clean. The pox is a living hell.”
“I understand,” William said, though he didn’t.
Edmund’s face grew darker. He grasped Will by the arms. “There isn’t a man sniffing around you, is there? Did someone touch you?”
William recognized the murderous glint in his brother’s eye. He spoke hurriedly. “No
, I swear. None has touched me.”
“There are men who do such things. They’re filth, Will. Unnatural. Dishonorable. Never let a man touch you like that. Swear it!”
“I swear,” William said, though he felt confused about why Edmund found it so important.
“What’s a man’s most valued possession?” Edmund demanded, still intent.
“His honor,” said Will firmly.
Edmund relaxed and smiled. He ruffled William’s hair. “Good. Best we get you a wench. Give you a release for all that lust before you get yourself into trouble. You and me will go into town on the morrow.”
The idea of Edmund taking him to swive a woman was terrifying. “Um… I think… I think I should be a little older.”
Edmund laughed. “Now we get down to it. You’re of the age to want to hunt the wolf, but you run at the first howl. Come on, then. Let’s go practice your swordplay. At least that’s something good and hard in your hand.”
Not long after, Edmund had left for war and never returned.
Messing with a boy or two might be tolerated at your age, but not much older.
Now that William was grown and had traveled some, he knew the truth was both more complex and darker. Some knights used their squires for sexual release. He’d heard it in the dark around him on the road on occasion. While it was generally tolerated, he thought it an abuse of power, and his respect for the men who did it diminished, especially upon seeing more than a few squires who obviously did not relish the role and appeared beaten down.
Still, to use a boy in such a way was largely overlooked as long as it happened away from home, when men had no alternative. As long as it was a boy.
There was a name for men whose tastes fastened on other men as their regular fare. Sodomites. They were publicly shunned here, but in France, such men were burned. There had been treatises calling for the same in England and harping on the dangers of the perversion.